AntiOrdinary
by faerietaleredux
Summary: When he first meets Macy Misa, he brushes her off. She's just an ordinary girl. And Joe doesn't do ordinary. Joe/Macy. A JONAS prose poem; read if you dare.
1. it begins

**Anti-Ordinary—a JONAS prose poem**

(something that can't decide if it's a story or a poem. yeah, it's temperamental that way)

Note: This is pretty out there, I know. And probably hard to follow. Sorry. But **suburbs**' A Spoonful of Sugar made me want to take a stab at something involving Joe and Macy. Plus, **pyrolyn-776** put a teaser up for a story called "Malice in Wonderland" that I'm dying to read. And I've wanted to try my hand at the poetry thing others do so well… All those things inspired this piece of—well, whatever you want to call it. O_o And **camirae, **I'm so sorry. I'm working on "Potions" as we speak. It will be updated by the end of the week if it kills me.

**

* * *

  
**

Believe it or not,

when Joe was a kid he loved to read

_________(you're surprised already, I bet)

Stories about heroes

______(and even a few heroines)

who stepped out of their b o r ing lives and founded

some new**_ fantasmic _**_world_

_______(no, that's not misspelled. _it's a neologism -- look it up)_

be it--Neverland, Terabithia, or even W o n d e rland.

Stories that blatantly defied anything** ordinary**

because, really,

is there anything worse than being ordinary?

_______(Maybe.

But not to Joe.)

.

When he first meets Macy Misa, he brushes her_ off_.

She's just another fan.

An ordinary girl

who likes him not as_ Joe_,

_______(the person: complex and multi-faceted)

but as 'Joe'

__(the carefully marketed playboy: forever a connective unit of JONAS ¬hing; else)

.

Don't misunderstand

It's not that he doesn't love his fans.

They're the reason he l i v e s this very _un_ordinary life

________(and for that he'll always thank them.)

But, in all honesty, he prefers it when they're standing a safe __|| d i s t a n c e ||___ a w a y.

.

And there is no 'safe distance' from Macy Misa, superfan.

Whether within five feet or five yards—

she's sure to cause damage.

Sure, to some extent it's _funny _

. . . the way she gets so excited to see them.

It's a compliment for sure.

But **_it's also_** **_annoying_**.

He sometimes wonders why Stella even bothers with her.

_________(How mean, right? You're thinking_ K e v i n_ would never think that about a fan. And you're right. He's the nice one.

_Nick_ probably would. His mouth curves in a **deep** _frown_ when he's irritated. But he'd keep quiet. He never says anything that might be bad for business.

But Joe's the moody one. (at least sometimes). And when he's **t i r e d **of something, every part of his body shows it. It drips off him in visible layers.)

.

So he makes it a point to stay away from Macy.

It saves him a trip to the nurse's office

And stops him from being overly rude to a girl who didn't really do anything wrong.

She can't help it.

She's just another normal,

**run of the mill** (o r d i n a r y) girl.

And that's not her fault.

He even feels a little sorry for her now, on the rare occasion she crosses his mind.

But at most, it's an after**thought**.

.

Anyway, tonight he's sitting on cold concrete outside Horace Mantis Prep. Leaning against a stublly stucco wall, waiting (not too patiently) for Stella and Nick to finish whatever it is people (read: suck-ups) do on after school projects.

He's in a sour mood--having just read a review that described JONAS as a "dispensable pop sensation riding the fickle-tween-craze to fame." Never mind that they wrote every song on their album. That Nick plays every instrument known to man. Or that they've never lip-synced once in their lives. It's like every ounce of **blood **and **sweat** they'd poured into their new album doesn't matter because people can't get past their age. Or their audience.

He's tired of it and shoves the magazine away, watching as it skids down the concrete. (It's trash anyway.)

When** !!BAM!! **the door to school f lys open

three feet away from him

and out walks the most _gorgeous _legs he's ever seen.

Tawny, caramel colored legs

in four-inch fluorescent fuchsia stilettos

walking like they've got somewhere to be.

.

Joe is momentarily frozen to his seat.

.

He blinks a few times to recover and then lets his gaze focus on the steadily shrinking figure in front of him. Her dark hair is tied back in a messy up-do, but long strands escape and fall in waves down her back; it b ounce s up and down as she treks away from him. She's wearing this puffy purple skirt that's really very strange. Like an iridescent taffeta or something. Stella would know what to call it, but whatever. It's all sparkly and short (hence the visual feast of her legs mentioned earlier) and the girl looks almost like a fairy on the loose.

Nick once said that Joe would've been a skirt-chasing cad if their parents hadn't raised them so strictly. That's the thought that enters Joe's mind as he gets up from his spot on the ground and literally chases after the mystery girl.

.

His heart's beating

____(paTHUMP paTHUMP

____like he's stepped off the stage

____and heard the ROAAHHR of the crowd for the first time)

and he's _running_ to catch up with her.

_____(how does she run so fast in those heels?)

.

Fairygirl just bounces onward

____(you'd think the girl ran marathons or something)

over hill and dale

and football field,

her purple pumps leaving grooved imprints in the damp grass.

.

She stops in front of a hole in the ground

____(when did they start digging up the football field?)

and Joe sucks in air for his overworked lungs,

____(who knew he was so out of shape?)

reducing his speed so as to appear somewhat nonchalant

when finally approaching her.

But before he can make his move she jumps

----j u m p s (!)---

straight into that hole and disappears.

Like Alice going

d

o

w

n

the rabbit hole

_-flash- _and she's gone.

.

And suddenly images of every book Joe ever read runs through his mind like pages turning on their own. And it's like he understands. He understands why Wendy had no second thoughts about jumping out her window to chase the sky for a boy she'd only just met. Or why Alice knew to follow that rabbit down a dark, dirty hole.

They had to.

In one moment,

they realized that **extraordinary** things

awaited them

on the _o t h e r_ side.

But you can't get there without jumping over an edge.

So, Joe did.

(to be continued…one day)

* * *


	2. on the other side of tomorrow

_Note: I shouldn't be doing this. I have a million things to do. I'm stressed and overwhelmed and nowhere near accomplishing what I need to. But this was as close to therapeutic as I could manage._

_

* * *

  
_

on the other side of tomorrow

so **where do you end up** exactly

when you

_J_

_u_

_m_

_p_

into a **h o le**

_______(a fissure really)

to chase a purple-clad **fairy**like person?

.

--in a bar?

--in a dream?

--in the year twenty-two-twenty-two?

.

Joe couldn't tell you,

_______(at least not at the moment)

as he's firmly planted, face forward

against the ground

_______(well, he thought it was ground.

_______In reality,

_______or maybe reality isn't the best term…)

the floor's much softer than dirt,

feeling more like **finely**crushed **densely**packed

_. . . . . f l o w e r s._

_._

Joe sneezes.

"Pixie dust?"

It's his first thought

upon touching the gold-flecked

powder between his fingers.

.

But before he can really uncover what that means, he's interrupted by a sharp stab to his side. With a loud, "Ouch!" he turns himself over and sits upright, though not particularly gracefully.

Standing over him is a little blue-skinned boy with feathers for hair. "I told you it was alive, mother," he says to the much taller figure beside him.

'Mother' is holding an obtrusive green rod and jabs Joe with it once more for good measure.

He ducks out of the way, on his feet now. "Sheesh, Lady! What's your problem?"

The Bird-lady squawks a little and ruffles her ginger feather-bob while strutting away, herding her son in front her.

"But, mom, I want to see what he is," the boy complains.

"Just human, trash, baby. Nothing interesting about that."

Joe should probably be offended, but his brain can't get beyond the strangeness of the world around him, now having caught a proper glance at it. He's in a garden. But it's not like any garden he's seen before:

Giant chrysanthemums cast shadows

over miniature-oak-trees lining the

_~**w **~ **i **~ **n **~ **d **~ **i **~ **n **~ **g**~_

gold**glittered** pixie-dust path.

Stars

_______(yes, actual gaseous nebulae)

dangle in midair, hanging on strings

held up by a non-existent ceiling.

.

And there's a party going on.

.

He can tell because of movement in a corner of the garden, just barely within visual range. More stars are lit-up in that area and people (this term is debatable, as very few of them look like what Joe would consider people) are grouped together around oddly shaped tables.

He considers joining the festivities (after all, what's a party without him), when two imposing figures clutch him--each grabbing him by the back of the arm. They drag him (despite much protest) and a single word lingers in his mind--

_h e l p l e s s_.

But what surprises him most is

how **_familiar_** the feeling is,

like he's been this way

_______(trapped)

for a long time,

even if the **w o r d**

only now connects.

.

When the guards let go of him,

he's kneeling (uncomfortably)

in a spot that might be some type

of dancefloor

or chessboard

or carrotbed

_______(Whatever; it's a flat patch of land

_______and Joe's in the middle)

with a growing group of strangers

standing around him and above him

_______(trapped, again

_______trapped always?)

.

"Intruder," one of the guards explains.

The crowd murmers.

An old, dark-skinned man uses his checkered cane to life up Joe's chin. "A young one" he says, squinting to look more thoroughly.

"Look at his clothing!" Says a freckly girl. "It's so bizarre."

Joe looks down at his school uniform, custom-made by Stella. It does look bizarrely tame in this world of ultra**bright **colors and **shouting**patterns. He's trying to figure out something to say. Something other than '_Hi, I'm Joe_' or '_Have you seen a purple girl go by here?_' because that probably wouldn't be effective with these people. How about '_I come in peace_'? That always works in movies. Oh wait. Nevermind. It's what people say in movies, but never actually works. Go figure.

"But his face has an interesting shape. He might make a good wall ornament."

"Whoa," Joe says, whipping around to look at who suggested such a thing (a plump woman with scary eyes and a cat-shaped hat). "I'm not gonna--" But his words falter when he notices a nearby figure.

It's her.

Dark messy hair falling everywhere.

Purple fairyskirt. And eyes he's seen before

but never with such...** f i r e**.

And again he forgets to breathe because it just can't be. _Her_? _She's his _**mystery**_nymph_?

.

"Macy?"

He says the word aloud, but it comes out a** croak**.

She's blinking, evaluating him with the rest;

her eyes **f l a s h** i n g,

but without any semblance of recognition.

CatHat woman frowns, amazed. "He speaks! Though I don't recognize the tongue."

"Bea?"

_______(This is CatHat's name, apparently)

She turns, her hat hitting a fox-featured man behind her. "Yes, Duchess?"

Macy looks at her. "Can't I have him, please? I do so need a new errand-boy. You heard what happened to Pepper. And," she looks over at Joe with a raised eyebrow, "I think this one can be trained."

CatHat looks torn. She was thinking this one would look good next to her window treatment... but it might be useful to have the Duchess owing her a favor... Useful, indeed.

"Alright, dear," she purrs. "You can have him." As CatHat turns to leave, joining the mingling of the party once again--the small crowd of spectators follows her.

And just like that--he's alone with her.

.

Macy has her back to him, making sure every last creature has lost interest in him.

He's strangely silent.

When she finally turns around, it's her--the Macy he knows (well, sort of; at least the recognition is there)--only she isn't happy to see him (the Macy he knows is_ always_ happy to see him). She's **terrified**. "What are you doing here?"

She pushes him along, leading him away from the garden**party**, away from the path in general. "Don't you realize how dangerous this is?" Her voice catches, trembling, and she shakes her head. "No, of course you don't."

He doesn't know what to say. His mind just can't keep up. Is this really Macy, superfan? The girl he so carefully avoids?

"How'd you even get here?"

"I--I followed you. You were running down the football field, and I came after you."

She looks at him like it's the most ridiculous answer in the history of the universe. And maybe it is.

They've stopped in front of an old tree with wraparound branches that twist around everything in sight.

Macy glances behind her, looking over Joe's shoulder. Not once but twice. Finally, when she's sure the coast is clear, she pulls out a locket formerly hidden in the folds of her blouse. With a few twists the locket becomes a key.

Joe can only stare. Amazed. "You're just full of surprises, aren't you, Macy?"

She looks up at him, her expression unreadable. And returns to business at hand. With three knocks on the base of the tree trunk: thump, thump, thump—a key hole appears.

She opens the door and stands aside. All Joe can see inside is blackness.

She looks at him and says "You have to leave. It isn't safe. The best thing you can do is forget—forget this place. Forget you were ever here. Step through and you'll be home."

She looks at him and, for the first time in this neverland, touches him.

It's brief;

a hand on his shoulder.

but he almost gasps from

the sheer **BAM!**

of one tiny touch.

And it makes him want more.

So much more.

**.**


	3. home is not always where the heart is

_Note: Total filler here. Sorry in advance. Tell me what you think, anyway? Please? Thank you **suburbs** for making me realize Joe would never go through that door on his own._

_

* * *

  
_

home is (not always) where the heart is

**Black**ness.

"Joe."

A rustling in the distance,

like _crump_ling paper,

but he's com_fort_able in the **black**.

Soothed by the n o t h i n g n e s s.

.

"Yo, mophead, wake up!"

And with a sudden –snatch--

he's robbed of covers,

bare chest exposed

to pierc_ing _morning coldness.

He jolts out of bed. "Wha—"

.

A less than imposing trio (Nick, Kevin &Stella, but you probably guessed that) crouches over him—Stella clutching tightly to his Batman blanket, a satisfied smirk on her face.

Joe frowns, _smother_ing his face with his hand. "What happened?" He looks around blearily. "Where's Macy?"

The three musketeers just stare, sharing a confused look. "Macy?" "Why would Macy be here?"

He's not sure who's asking the questions--he's too busy racking his brain. _How'd he get home?_ He wasn't going to leave her. No matter what she said. Especially if she was in danger—

And then he remembers.

**Anger**, worry &fear

course through him with such force

it shocks him.

"She pushed me."

He can't even believe it. She **push**ed him through that stupid door and sent him home like he was just some .h e l p l e s s. little boy needing to be looked after. Did she really think he was that… u s e l e s s ?

.

"Well, that explains it," Nick chimes in.

"Explains what?"

"How you ended up sprawled out, unconscious, on the football field."

"Poor Macy." Stella says, sad. "Don't be mad at her, Joe. I'm sure she didn't mean to knock you out. She just loses all coordination around you guys."

"No, that's not it." He shakes his head. They don't get it.

.

He knows why he's confused.

Who wouldn't be, really?

After what he's seen

_____(and not seen)

But why does he feel **empty**

like he was inches away from something--

_____(something he both _needs_

_____and wants).

But now it's gone again.

A million miles away.

.

"I need to talk to her."

Stella looks at him strangely, piecing it together. (Whatever 'it' is, anyway). Or at least trying to. "Well, don't forget you told Laura you were gonna pick her up."

"Who?"

"Uh, your girlfriend."

.

_b l a n k_ stare

.

"Ok, not your girlfriend. But you did go out last week."

"What's up with you, man?"

"Yeah, you're really out of it. Are you ok?"

From the way Kevin looks at him

_______(puppy dog eyes),

Joe knows he's sincere

_______(when is he not?)

But how can he answer

when he doesn't know?

.

Is he ok?

Does he want to be?

.

.

.

Laura's on the school steps when he gets there, toying with a strand of hair. She smiles when she sees him, but her eyes say something else. "Hey loverboy (___cringe_), where were you this morning?"

"Sorry. I forgot." He doesn't really have time for this. He needs to find **Macy**.

She laughs and pulls him down to the steps with her. "Ah, boys, and their memory. At least you didn't forget our anniversary or anything like that."

____(Uh, Anniversary? Really?)

They'd gone out, like... twice? Not exactly serious (to him anyway). But, to be fair, he vaguely remembered thinking she was hot. She was sophisticated and graceful and he'd mistaken that for... s p e c i a l.

She frowns at him. And he should probably be honest with her. But he turns his head just for a second and

--_bam_--t**here she is**. Running from her car, dark hair flying all over the place, clutching some kind of hockey stick.

He swallows.

"Oh look, it's your _superfan_." She says the word with such derision, expecting him to laugh with her.

And the worst part? A day ago, he would have.

.

He stands up, fumbling for words. "Macy!"

She doesn't notice at first, focused on where she's going. She's going to walk right passed him and he panics, jerking himself out of Laura's vice-grip.

.

_____(from the look on Laura's face

_____when he tries to leave,

_____Joe's not surehow he ever

_____thought she was beautiful).

But that hardly matters.

.

Stumbling forward, he grabs for **her **upper arm.

For a second her eyes -flash- **violet** and he thinks she's going to go all _kung-fu_ on him. But then she realizes who he is and it's someone else behind those eyes.

"Um. Joe. of Jonas. Hi!" Her voice squeaks a little and it's the best deer-in-headlights look he's ever seen, but he's not falling for it. Not this time.

"Why'd you push me? I wasn't ready to leave."

"Uh--" She looks around, like she's looking for help. "Did I push you? I'm sorry, I don't remember."

Her hockey stick swings sideways with her movement, flying towards Joe's head, but he grabs it with his freehand and lets it fall to the ground: Clatter, thump, silence.

He clutches her more tightly. She looks down at where his hand meets her arm. Even now he can feel a** fire **seething through the simple contact of skin against sleeve. Was this s p a r k between them always there? How's he not seen it?

But, as usual, Stella steps in with her perfect timing. It's like she has a radar for these things. "What's going on, Joe," she says, eyeing him like he's the devil. "You're not being a **_jerk_**, are you?"

"Stella, Joe could never--"

"Oh, yes he could, Mace. You're just too sweet to notice."

Joe fakes a smile. "Don't worry. No jerkiness here. I just need to talk to Macy for a minute."

Stella eyes the grip he has on her friend's jacket, blinking. "Well, Macy needs to be going," she says, pulling her friend away.

"But, I--"

"Trust me. This is for your own good."

But Joe's not having it. "After school, Macy. Just for a second. I have to tell you something important."

Her eyes go wide. "Um--"

And, again, Stella interrupts. "Sorry, she's busy. Girl's night."

Joe is undeterred. He pushes past the crowd of students and leans against her locker door. His hands are in his pockets and he just looking at her. Staring.

.

It's a moment

___(small and quiet)

where it's only them

--no hallways or stairs or people

--no stars or **fairy**dust

--just them.

So he asks her,

"Can I come by tonight?"

And she says, "Yes."

.

.

Laura and her posse send him death glares the rest of the day. And Stella is so convinced he's going to blow up at her friend, she refuses to speak to him. But he takes it in stride because tonight he's going to get answers. And he's determined to be ready for them, whatever they are.

The StellaCloset chooses something stealth for him. Something wacky enough to make him blend, even in Neverland. Or whatever that place is called. It should have a real name, he thinks. Maybe it does. He'll have to ask Macy. And he smiles because tonight he can.

.


	4. come to my window

_Note: Thank you, suburbs, for the beta. Sorry I've been absent so long. Most of you have probably forgotten about this fic. I know sometimes I do. But here's trying to finish something you start._

_

* * *

_

come to my window

.

Joe pounds his fist against the doorframe. "Stella, you **have** to let me in!"

"I don't have to do _anything_, Joe." She presses all her weight against the Misa's door, not entirely convinced their lock will hold. (she has a point too; doors rarely hold up against the rage of madmen, let alone teenage boys)

"Please! This isn't about you and me. It's about Macy. There's more to her than you realize. She needs me!"

"She needs help getting _over_ you guys. And she's been doing great**. The last thing she needs** right now is one of your mood-swing-induced-whims sending her back to where she started from."

He closes his eyes,

___(not needing this right now)

and says his next words softly--"Isn't that for **Macy** to decide?"

… "and . _n o t . y o u_."

.

In the space of a breath he can hear her swallow. Understanding sinking in.

___(**_Sting_**_ing)_

There'd always been something unspoken between them, an ever present potential for more than friendship…

But they missed their chance for that.

___(a sharp bitter squeeze. Needles of pain.)

His heart's worlds away now, and Stella's done denying it.

.

She takes a breath, releasing the pain. Willing it away.

"You're right." Of course. Another swallow. "Come in, Joe."

He follows her inside, unable to meet the vestige of pain lingering on her face.

"She's upstairs."

.

.

He's surprised when it's **not just her** that's upstairs, but five other girls.

___(Some of whom he may have dated before. Whoops).

It's all noisy clamor, as they spread out sleeping bags and toss pillows. Bowls of popcorn and peanut m&ms on the floor.

But, one by one, they notice him

___(a bird among a pack of lionesses)

and the room quiets to an eerie lull.

Joe clears his throat. "I'm looking for Macy."

They look at each other, communicating something he doesn't want to think about, and one girl points to the next room.

He excuses himself with a nod and opens the door without thinking.

.

She | j u m ps | back,

clenching a powder blue robe to her chest.

"Joe?"

He notices the look of shock on her face but steps in anyway.

"Hi Mace."

.

"Uh, hi."

Her eyes dart around the room, trying to make sense of his appearance. "What are you doing here?"

His lips curl in a half-smile. "I thought we had an appointment."

"I didn't realize you were serious." She bites her lip, not releasing a careful grip on the robe. "Um, if this is about those pictures of you in the boys' locker-room, I can totally take them off my fan-site. I didn't know it would upset you so much when I uploaded them."

"It's not about— whoa — what pictures?"

She laughs awkwardly, mouth open in that saccharine smile she uses when caught red-handed. "Oh nothing, hah ha. Nevermind."

The door downstairs shuts loudly and Macy's head perks up at the sound. "That must be my parents. You'd better leave."

"What?! I just got here."

"I know, sorry! But the only way I can have people over when my parents are gone, is if there's no boys. You're definitely a boy."

He smirks at that, ready with a highly inappropriate comment, but she's pushing him towards the window sill. "Hold up. You want me to—"

"We're only one floor up, and there's lattice going down. You can handle it, right?"

"Macy, I'm not leaving. Not until you explain to me what's going on--"

But for the second time since he's started down this quest, she pushes him out of her space, nudging him out the window and shutting it firmly behind her.

.

Grumble, grumble.

Angry breath.

___(Is she ever going to let him in?)

He sits, pouting,

on her neighbor's grass.

But then, a moment of sheer brilliance passes

and he knows exactly what to do.

Removing the backpack from his shoulders, he takes out the purple-feathered hat and paint-stained army jacket.

He'll wait all night if he has to.

.

It's four minutes after midnight

when the

__(scratch, scratch

pitter-patter)

wakes him up.

.

Two blinks and he sees **her**

pale wendy-like nightdress

descending the lattice wall.

And she's off—

but he's not far behind.

.

Her silhouette, glowing white in the moonlight,

crosses the street and turns a corner,

into someone's garden.

His hand touches her shoulder

__(warm to the touch)

and she stops in her tracks. Facing him.

__(suddenly nervous)

His eyes flicker downward

and his face flushes

at the way the light exposes her skin

through the pale cotton gown.

"Here," he says,

wrapping his jacket around her shoulders.

But her eyes are empty. Lost. Not processing him.

"Macy?"

She blinks. And it's almost like…

…she's asleep.

___(sleepwalking?

___is that why she never seems to know what's going on?)

.

He steps back to allow her to go, and she does,

departing through the vine-covered gate.

But he's right behind her.

.

**. . .***

**and****  
**

..}}i{{

**bam**

**. . .***

.

Thousands of tiny sand particles--

Rough against his cheek.

He chokes on a mouthful and swallows—sand gritting against his soft throat tissue. **_B l ech._**

(seriously, how many times does he have to wake-up in unfamiliar territory? it's getting old. really old.)

Stumbling f o r w ard towards the beach,

He / r u bs / the blackness away, forcing his eyes

to open towards the sunlight.

But there is no sun here. And yet

there's **light** _everywhere_—bright

against the sand,

and making aquamarine waves

dust white against the shore.

.

There's a castle in the distance,

__( you're thinking, 'how cliché'

__but I didn't write the rule,

__so don't take it up with me)

carved into the cliff,

blocks of windowed-balconies etched casually onto its face.

____(and he wonders briefly what movie he's in. Because he hasn't seen Little Mermaid since Stella forced it on him at age seven. And he wasn't paying attention, even then.)

He heads for the rock-carved palace,

_______(because where else is he supposed to go?)

his steps leaving silver imprints on the damp sand.

At least he still has his hat.

.

He climbs steadily,

finding grooves

even in the smooth edge

of the cliff.

There's one open terrace with a light on;

it's hers.

.

Curtains \ _r u s t le /_ as he pushes them away

and steps into her chamber.

.

She's wearing white linen,

just like she's supposed to,

the fabric moving stiffly

with the salty breeze.

He sees everything flash across her face at the sight of him

--the frustration, disgust--

(and what's that? a flicker of . . . relief?)

"Nice hat," she says, raising an eyebrow.

"It seemed appropriate. Given my destination."

"I thought I told you never to come back here."

He shrugs,

"I've never been good at listening."

.


End file.
